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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833143">i need you alive.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishyouweresober/pseuds/wishyouweresober'>wishyouweresober</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>glass. [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Hospitals, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Recovery, feeding tube, trigger warning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:01:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishyouweresober/pseuds/wishyouweresober</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>( a p o s s i b l e ending )<br/>"Anorexia nervosa has the highest death rate (20% in 20 years) of all mental illnesses." (health.gov.au)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>glass. [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i need you alive.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>OKOK SO<br/>THIS IS ONLY ONE POSSIBLE ENDING<br/>IM GONNA WRITE A LOT BC I NEED THIS SERIES TO VENT <br/>TW///<br/>major character death<br/>anorexia<br/>hospitals</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   It was... Recovery was hard. If Alexander thought he was in pain months before, this proved to be 3,000 times worse. The pain in his stomach, previously from hunger and overuse of laxatives, persisted. Except, accompanied by the soreness and discomfort of a feeding tube shoved down his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   He almost laughed when it was first put there. Because he remembered thrashing in refusal, ignoring the protest from his weak and deteriorated muscle, while John watched from the corner. He hadn't cared, nor been ashamed. His entire life was already on display, he had nothing to hide anymore. Nothing he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The tube was uncomfortable, surely, but the pain was exaggerated. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> was just exaggerating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Unfortunately, they'd eventually forced him to comply. He lay on his bed like a defeated toddler, and the eyes of the slightly disgruntled nurses digging into his skin might've hurt before, but he didn't care anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   When they left him alone with John, silence filled the room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Silence... </span>
  </em>
  <span>that was all he seemed to hear anymore. People would come and go, drifting in and out of his hospital room with a look on their faces that asked one question: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is he dead? Is today the day? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He could see it when John stared at him, leaned up against the wall farthest from him. Alex allowed his eyes to roam his body. John had always been rather lean, the image of </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfection</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he'd nearly died to accomplish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
  <em>
    <span>And to think, he still hadn't reached it. He wondered if only he'd had a month more, at least...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "Does it hurt?" John's voice interrupted him, the raised eyebrow likely expressing he noticed Alexander's actions. The man in question didn't feel much like replying. And so he didn't. Not for a few minutes, during which he'd shut his eyes and imagined what his life would've been like if he'd never...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "Alex, hey-" Alexander snapped his eyes open, and he knew immediately why John had sounded so panicked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I'm not going to die, Jack." His voice was raspy, rough from screaming and resistance. "Why does everyone keep looking at me like I'm about to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   John pursed his lips, staring at Alex as if he'd just asked him the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>obvious question</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the world. "Lex... You were in a coma. For over a month. And it's not as if you're allowing yourself to get better, no offense. You... You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> dying." And then John shut his eyes, allowing a tear to escape. He finally pushed off the wall with a sigh, walking over and sitting in the chair directly next to Alexander. The frail man attempted to push himself up from his laying position, but failed and simply peered up at the other. "Please just try. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alex." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alexander knew that John was right. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> dying. But he felt so close to perfect that he couldn't find it in himself to care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "What... What are you even trying to do? What's your </span>
  <em>
    <span>goal </span>
  </em>
  <span>here?" The taller boy's voice was desperate, panicked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alex found himself lacking an answer for a few moments. Why was his goal? Since it began, he'd found it becoming more of a necessity than chasing after a goal. His voice was raspy and weak when he finally spoke, "I wanted to be perfect, in the beginning. But now... I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to," he cleared his throat in an effort to make his voice stronger, but it ultimately failed. "I need to get out of here. I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I'm not going to stop. Do whatever the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> you guys will. I'm not going to. So get me out of here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   John looked at him sadly, beginning to stroke his cheek in lieu of answering. No matter how uncomfortable it was to feel the sharp cut of bone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>   Thomas waited a week to visit after receiving the call from the hospital that his... that Alexander had awoken. He didn't know if he was ready to see him. But people kept asking him how he was, and it had begun to be rather depressing to have to explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>'I haven't seen him. I refuse to.'</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   He stood, shivering, outside the cold hospital room with a single tacky flower. Alex had always thought roses were cheesy, and so Thomas had only ever bought him roses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   He bought one peony today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   The door opened with a creak, his fear rolling off of him in waves. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Would he be dead when he arrived? Would he be angry? Crying?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   The correct answer proved to be none of the above. The first thing he noticed was the open window, John Laurens standing in front of it and staring outside. At the noise, the boy quickly turned around, glancing at the hospital bed that Thomas refused to acknowledge before regarding him with a cold look. "Where were you?" John's voice didn't come off as a question, but an accusation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I couldn't..." There wasn't an excuse, he realized. He just </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn't. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He looked around the room, anywhere but at the boy he knew must be in the white bed centered in the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   A voice broke the static silence, raspy and pained. "Hi." Thomas refused to look, too scared that he would see a corpse, a pile of bones, that it wouldn't be </span>
  <em>
    <span>his Alexander</span>
  </em>
  <span> laying in that bad. A whine, all too similar to that of </span>
  <em>
    <span>November 23rd, November 23rd, November-</span>
  </em>
  <span> "Will you please </span>
  <em>
    <span>look at me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   So he did. And somehow he looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Smaller, laying in that bed with machines hooked up to nearly every patch of skin revealed. "I'm sorry." Thomas finally whispered, out of anything to say. "I should've... Said something. Or done something. But I didn't. I'm sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I'll let you guys talk." John glanced at Alex for confirmation and left the two men in a tense silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I... I did it for you, you know," Thomas cringed at the mere thought of that, but Alexander didn't stop there. "I wanted to be perfect for you. Or maybe as perfect </span>
  <em>
    <span>as</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. I couldn't really tell the difference. And I know that I'm not in the... best shape, obviously. But I don't care. I'm happier now. There's nothing to be sorry about."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "How are you happier?" Thomas harshly whispered. "You're on your deathbed, our friends are </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroyed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you- And I-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I don't know what I would've done if you'd stopped me, Thomas. So if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> give a shit about me then </span>
  <em>
    <span>get me the fuck out of here.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Do you want me to be happy?" Alex's voice was cold, angry. Thomas didn't know what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I want you happy but I need you </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" The words had slipped out before he could even think, the truth hanging heavily in the atmosphere. "So... Please. Just try."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. Once I do, I gain weight and once I gain weight to get healthy I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep gaining. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then I keep eating and I can't </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Can everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> just leave me alone?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "Alex... Did they tell you your weight? Did they even </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>you how bad it was?" Thomas was nearly shaking with anger. Anger or sadness, they had both melted into the same emotion. Something that felt oddly similar to discomfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "74 pounds."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Thomas nearly scoffed but swallowed it down as tears rose to the surface of his eyes. "Is that what you think? And do you think that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>good?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alexander panicked, he wasn't anymore? Had he gained weight? He wouldn't be surprised, the food being fed to him no matter how much he protested. He gained, didn't he? </span>
  <em>
    <span>He gained, gained, gained.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "I-I'm not?" He choked out, for the first time since this began, feeling something akin to crying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Thomas bit his lip guiltily, "You're 5'5" and </span>
  <em>
    <span>67 </span>
  </em>
  <span>pounds. You- You were about to die! They said one moment later and-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   But he stopped because a smile had broken out onto Alex's bone-thin face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>   Thomas didn't return for all of the following few days that Alexander remained in the hospital. Hospitals were expensive, and Alexander had no family. He'd accepted help on the bills, Thomas discovered, but he refused to return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   When Thomas heard, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>furious.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He saw red while reading the text from Lafayette, marching down to Alex's dorm with an intention of forcing the boy to return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   He still had a key to the dorm, letting himself in without fair warning. What he opened the door to... </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alexander was laid on the floor, grunting as he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>situps. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Granted, Thomas noticed that he looked slightly better, but the amount of weight gained was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make him healthy enough to be performing </span>
  <em>
    <span>situps. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alex must've known it too, as he sat there sweating and red and panting-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   He jumped at the sound of his door slamming open, glaring at the man who stormed in. "What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you doing here?" Alexander hissed, his aggressive voice coming off as a shock to Thomas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I- Why the fuck are you out of the hospital?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alex rolled his eyes, "Stop acting like you </span>
  <em>
    <span>care. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And I told you. I don't need it. I don't need your fucking concern or pity, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck off."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "Acting? Who said I don't care? You were the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>love of my life</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Alex! Why the fuck wouldn't I-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alexander winced, laughing shortly and humorlessly. "Ha, '</span>
  <em>
    <span>were',</span>
  </em>
  <span> see I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, but it still feels odd to hear." He shut his eyes momentarily. "Thomas, you visited me </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I woke up. You gave up on me when everyone claimed I needed help. I... I did everything for you and you treated me like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>burden."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Thomas shook his head rapidly, preparing to disagree, but Alex spoke over him. "No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don't. I've had to deal with </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span> shit the past few weeks. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> compared to you fucking abandoning me. That- That </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" And Alexander's voice cracked, and it was only then that Thomas noticed he was still sitting gingerly on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   He was wearing shorts and a tank top, for reasons Thomas would never know. He'd seen Alexander's body when it had begun to get bad, sure. But this... This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrifying. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There was simply no way to describe it, Alexander's muscles and bones and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I never </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> you for any of this. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>don't</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking say it was for me. Because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ruined</span>
  </em>
  <span> us. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If any of this was for me then you would've stopped the </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span> you realized how fucking sad I was."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "Well..." Alexander started in a small voice. "I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry that you were sad, Thomas. But you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>left me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was sat in that fucking white room for over a month </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting for you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And you left."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Thomas let the dams holding his tears back break, "I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How many times do I have to say that? I was fucking scared of you, Alex!" He yelled before he could stop himself, hesitating at the wince displayed by Alex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Weak, vulnerable, fragile Alex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "Thomas... I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And don't think that this is going to change anything. I'm not stopping, and you're not going to stop me. You're gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave me the fuck alone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I can't look at you without... Why did you stop loving me? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "I... I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But it got </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I can't love someone who won't stop fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing </span>
  </em>
  <span>themselves."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alexander looked down, staring at the floor in silence. "But you're not supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I needed you. And you </span>
  <em>
    <span>left." </span>
  </em>
  <span>He broke suddenly, tears slipping sparsely before it turned into something horrible. In a matter of seconds, he was gasping for air and sobbing as tears streamed down his face. "Why won't you just love me? I'm trying so hard to be perfect, please-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Thomas was hesitant to reach for him, but before long he could help but fall into Alexander's embrace. "I love you, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But that won't fix anything. You need to love </span>
  <em>
    <span>yourself</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Alex couldn't reply, burying his face into Thomas's shirt and allowing himself to cry freely. The moment he could get a hold of himself, he sniffled and swallowed down his tears. "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not unless I do this."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>   Eventually, as with many things in his life, Alexander lost control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   And every time Thomas is asked to describe Alex, he only has one thing to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   "He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect."</span>
  </em>
</p>
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